


I Was The Lucky One

by DilemmaOf_A_Username



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol abuse (Use of alcohol as a coping mechanism), Angst, Drinking, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9617222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilemmaOf_A_Username/pseuds/DilemmaOf_A_Username
Summary: Sam remembers his childhood, his life on the road, and his big brother.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Protective Dean is my thing. And so is Sam's POV. I live for these things. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam remembers his childhood well. It’s one of the reasons he’s made it this far, he thinks. If he didn’t remember what his dad and big brother taught him, Sam was sure that he would be dead, torn apart by some monster or another (Sam doesn’t want to think of the alternative, of being stuck as Lucifer’s vessel for the rest of eternity, stuck in the _pit_ with no way out _ever_ ). 

And Sam remembers his brother and how he fought and struggled before Sam was even able to hold a gun. 

+++

He remembers getting an inkling of what he missed when he was just a toddler and John was still drunk and hurting all the time. He overheard Bobby and John talking one night. Shouting, actually. It was about Dean and Sam and John. Bobby was so _angry_. Angrier than the time he found Sam stealing candy from the grocery store. 

“GODDAMMIT JOHN! You can’t _seriously_ expect me to just accept this!” Bobby roared at John, getting in the other man’s face, spittle flying. “You can’t expect me to _IGNORE_ THIS!”

Sam couldn’t see his dad’s face from his hiding spot at the base of the stairs, but he was sure that John was glaring at Bobby.

“You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do with my children, Bobby,” John growled out. Sam shivered. That was the voice John used when Sam and Dean were in trouble or John was on a hunt. “I will raise my boys the way I like and they are going to be _fine_.”

Bobby turned red in the face and his brows mashed together. He turned away from John and looked like he was going to sit at his desk. Suddenly he whirled around to face John, rage clear on his features. 

“TO HELL THEY WILL!” John’s posture stiffened but Bobby just continued on, advancing on John.

“THEY ARE HUNGRY AND WARIER THAN CHILDREN HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE!”

“They are MY children and I will raise them as I see FIT!” John yelled back at Bobby. Sam cowered further into his corner. He was so far in the corner that he couldn’t see the two men anymore, but he could still hear them. 

“John,” Bobby’s voice was quiet and deadly. It was Bobby’s serious voice but worse. Sam tried to close in on himself, too scared to try and run back up the stairs, to the relative safety of his borrowed room. “You know what I saw when you dropped your boys with me two months ago? Huh?” Bobby sounded so soft but Sam could hear the deadly undercurrent. 

“I saw Dean practically running out of your car and dragging Sammy with him.”

John gave a snort. “And? The boy was just bored of hunting, wanted some time off.”

“No, John. That boy _wants_ to hunt. He has no self-preservation, no sense. He just wants to be with you, hunting.” Bobby’s voice was building up again, rage seeping through. Sam didn’t understand why, but he couldn’t move. “He wouldn’t leave unless he felt there was something too close that was a danger to himself.” Bobby paused. “Actually, he wouldn’t leave then, either, the idjit. He would only leave something if he felt it was a danger to his baby brother.”

Sam should have resented being called a baby, but he was too focused on keeping his breathing quiet. 

“Dean wouldn’t sit down, either, John.” 

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” John was sounding impatient now. Sam wished Bobby would hurry up and get away from his dad because impatience led to anger. And his dad was scary when he was angry. 

“When I passed the boys’ rooms later that night,” Bobby continued on as if he hadn’t heard John. “I saw BRUISES!” Bobby had escalated to a yell again. “ALL up and down that boy’s BACK. So explain to me, _John_ , what I should think!”

It was silent for what seemed an eternity.

“You stay out of my business, Bobby,” John finally said, voice deadly quiet. 

Sam could hear Bobby rumbling back at John, still arguing, but was distracted by Dean who’d come down the stairs without Sam noticing. 

“Come on Sammy,” he whispered. “It’s past time for bratty kids to be in bed.” Dean threw a glance over his shoulder at the two adults who were still arguing in the cluttered living room before grabbing Sam by the arm and hauling him onto his back. 

Sam wanted to complain, whine that he was old enough to put himself to bed, but he was scared so he let his big brother carry him up the stairs and tuck him into bed. 

“Night, Sammy,” Dean murmured from the doorway. “Don’t listen to the adults anymore, okay?”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam mumbled back. Dean nodded and closed the door quietly and Sam let himself drift off into a troubled sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're still reading! Thank you! *sobs*

Sam didn’t understand what the argument he had heard was about until years later. He was sixteen by then, and Dean was twenty. Their family still hopped from town to town and Sam still had to uproot himself each time. Dad still drinks, Dean still follows dad’s orders, and Sam still hopes to get out. But they stopped going to Bobby’s. Dad says it’s because Sam is old enough to look out for himself, but Sam still remembers the argument and how their visits to Bobby’s petered out quickly after that night. 

 

+++

 

Sam also remembers what that argument was about and he finally puts two and two together one night when his brother stumbles through the door of their shared motel room, limping and bleeding. Sam rushes to his bight brother but Dean pushes him away, telling him to finish his homework and hobbles to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a sharp click of the lock. 

Sam listens to the rushing of the shower for a minute before he sighs and decides it was just a hunt gone wrong. He decided that dad must have sent an injured Dean back and was finishing the werewolves off on his own. Satisfied, Sam settles himself back down at the table and continues his Advanced Bio homework. 

When Dean comes out of the shower, he’s dressed in an old shirt and some ratty sweatpants. Sam hardly glances up from his work, still immersed in the structure of the cell. 

“Whaddya wanna eat, Sammy?” Sam looks up at his brother who’s staring at their fridge with a grimace on his face. Looks like the leftovers went bad again. 

“Whatever,” Sam says back before he thinks better of giving his brother complete control over his dinner. “Actually, nothing with mayo. Or copious amounts of sauces. Or-”

“Or anything that actually makes food worth eating,” Dean interrupts. “Yeah, Sammy, I got it.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother and Dean leaves again. When he comes back, his arms are full of burgers, drinks, and fries. Dean hands Sam a bag and Sam peers inside it. The tinfoil wrapping on his burger was marked “C/T/xL”

“What’s this mean?” Sam asked, waving the burger in front of his brother’s face. Dean glanced up before going back to his frankly ginormous sandwich. 

“It means cheese, tomatoes, and extra lettuce, nerd. And it still has ketchup and crap on it, so don’t throw a hissy fit.”

Sam glared at his brother. 

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam grinned at the table and dug into his burger. 

 

+++

 

When Sam asked what had happened on the hunt, Dean shut him down, just told him that it was routine, he and dad had fixed it, and everything was fine. Sam asked about the limp and the bloody nose and Dean just shrugged, said that fighting werewolves was dangerous. When he wondered where dad was, Dean told Sam dad was just out getting a drink because they’d had a hell of a time with those werewolves.   
Sam didn’t really know if he believed that but it wasn’t much better than his story, so he went with it. What both Sam and Dean weren’t saying was that their dad was probably getting drunk. Dead drunk. It was too close to the anniversary of Mary’s death for dad to be doing anything else.   
+++

John stumbled into the motel room at two forty-three. Dean was dead to the world, exhausted from a week of nonstop hunting and running on less than his standard 4 hours per night. Sam was only up because he forgot to finish his math homework and was just about done when he heard the door open. Looking up with bleary eyes, Sam watched his dad careen into the wall that divided the doorway from the beds and then stumble into the kitchenette. 

Blinking angrily into the light, John tripped over his feet as he turned to face Sam.

“Watcha doin’ up still, boy?” Sam peered up at his bumbling dad, looking into unfocused eyes. 

“Finishing my homework, sir.” Sam spoke quietly. He hoped he could avoid any yelling and broken motel fixtures this time. 

“Huh,” John snorted, rubbing his face with his hand. He slumped into the chair opposite Sam and Sam sat as still as he could. He didn’t know why he felt so wary of his dad, but he had learned to follow his gut instinct and it was telling him to stay still and wait out the storm. 

Sam sat for another five minutes, stock still. His dad finally nodded off and Sam began to quietly pack up his stuff, pushing his books and papers into his backpack. When he was done, Sam stood up as silently as possible. That seemed to be the wrong move. 

John shot up in his chair and glared at Sam. Sam stopped and stood as still as a statue. 

“Who told ya’ you coul’ be leavin’ boy?” Sam stared down at his dad, mind working furiously to get him out of this situation. 

“No one, sir,” he said quietly, still looking his dad in the eye. Maybe that’s what set John off, or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to do so, but John suddenly exploded. 

“You and your brother, both of ya’! Neither can listen to me! Always runnin’ off and doin’ hell KNOWS what!” John was red in the face and Sam stayed in his spot. This had happened before and Sam had learned that doing nothing was his best bet. Gave John less fuel and eventually the drunken rage would simmer down. 

It didn’t work this time, though.

All Sam had time to register was a hand coming towards his face and the white-hot feeling of a backhand. He’d felt this before, when he was training with Dean, when he was hunting, and the couple of times he got into fights at school. But never from his dad. And never with so much anger and fire put behind it, all of it for no reason. Sam stumbled back and hit the old refrigerator and a decal that was perched on top fell and shattered on the ground. 

Sam was too stunned to see his dad coming at him again, still yelling at him, cursing his sons’ stupidity, their uselessness, and their general existence. He flinched in on himself when he noticed the hand coming at him again but never felt the hit. Looking up, Sam saw Dean wrestling their dad, yelling at Sam to get out of the way. 

Sam scrambled to the other side of the divider and pressed himself against the wall next to the beds. Dean had their dad pinned against the fridge, something he could only do because of how drunk John was. 

“You hit Sam again and I’ll end you, you bastard.” 

John struggled against his eldest but Dean hit him over the head with another of the decals that were laying around and John stopped moving. Dean dropped him and left him on the kitchen floor. When he turned to face Sam again, Sam saw fire still in his eyes, but it softened when he took in Sam’s hunched form. 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “It’s alright. Can you grab the med kit from my bag?”

Sam nodded, going into what he later decided was a mild case of shock, and fumbled over to Dean’s green canvas duffel. When he handed the white kit to Dean, he expected him to clean the cuts on their dad’s face, but Dean steered Sam to the nearest bed and sat him down after turning out the kitchen light. Dean flicked on the bedside lamp as he sat opposite Sam and rummaged through the plastic box. He brought out a disinfectant wipe and a cold compress. Dean handed Sam the compress but pressed the disinfectant wipe to Sam’s face himself, sweeping it slowly and carefully along what was going to be a painful bruise. He was surprised when it stung like a cut and slapped Dean’s hand out of the way on instinct. Dean huffed but let Sam touch his cheek. He was surprised when his fingers came away bloody.

“Dad got you with the back of his ring,” Dean told him quietly as he pressed the wipe back to his cheek. “Here’s a bandage. Put the cold compress on it to stop the swelling.” Sam accepted the proffered items and Dean heaved himself up from the bed. Sam watched Dean go to the kitchen, step over their dad, and grab a glass of water. On the way back, Dean tripped over John’s legs and ignored their dad when he groaned. 

“He hasn’t done that to you before, has he Sammy?” He asked it casually, but Sam was sure that if Dean felt like Sam was being hurt his big brother would tear their father apart. 

“No, Dean, dad hasn’t hit me before.” Dean stared at Sam for a minute, looking at him with a hard, assessing gaze. Dean sighed before running his fingers through his hair, eyes tired in the dim light of the bedside lamp. 

“Sammy. I need you to tell me the tru-”

“I AM telling you the truth, Dean!” Sam didn’t want Dean and their dad to get into another fight, especially when dad was sober. And Sam wasn’t lying. This was the first time dad had raised a hand against him. 

Again, Dean sighs, but reaches over to ruffle Sam’s hair gently. “Okay, Sammy,” he rumbles quietly, continuing to stroke through Sam’s hair. “Okay.”

Later that night, after Dean has picked up the shards of the glass figures and John’s beer bottle (but leaves John on the floor), has tucked Sam into bed (Sam ignores how he just lets it happen, how he’s comforted by his big brother’s care), and Sam is almost asleep, Dean leans over and pets Sam’s forehead. 

“Ya know, Sammy, if you let yourself get hit again, I _will_ kill the bastard.”

Sam just nods sleepily and watches his brother climb into his bed and switch off the light.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day Sam wakes up to John growling at Dean in the kitchen. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up, boy?” John was probably sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. “I coulda been hurt, for all you know.”

Dean scoffed from somewhere else in the kitchen. Sam decided he was probably leaning against some part of the counter, facing John, with no blind spots where an enemy could catch him unaware. 

“You weren’t hurt, old man, you were drunk.” Dean sounded angry, but Sam didn’t think that John could hear it. John wouldn’t have cared, anyway.  
“Listen here, boy-” John started, getting ready to rant, but Dean interrupted him.

“No, YOU listen here,” Dean was seething, Sam could tell without having to look at him. “You were so drunk that you don’t even _remember_ what you did last night. So don’t you tell me to listen. You’re just lucky that I didn’t drop you where you stood!” Dean was thundering at the end. John stared down at Dean, gaze blurry and angry. He made to say something, but Dean spotted Sam. 

“Heya, Sammy. How’s your face?” John was still glaring at Dean, but when Dean refused to look back at him, John turned to look at Sam.  
Sam stared into his dad’s eyes and John stared back. Sam almost thought that maybe John would apologize, maybe he would give Sam a hug, but John just raised his eyebrows and Sam’s hopes dropped. 

“What did you do to your face, Sam?” Sam gaped at John who just squinted at him and turned back to the counter, grabbing a chipped mug and taking a drink of cheap coffee. Out of his peripheral, he saw Dean glaring at John and Sam realized that their dad didn’t remember. 

Or maybe he did, but he didn’t care. 

It didn’t matter. He had known that he needed to get out of this life, this danger, but now he knew he needed out of this family, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I don't really know what's happening with this story anymore. But it's happening, and if you're along for the ride, THANK YOU!  
> And thank you for all the kudos. I get way to excited when I see those, but whateves.  
> I think there might be 2-3 more chapters left in this and I'm going to go back and edit chapter 2 a bit, but other than that, I think this is just going.  
> And rambling, DONE!
> 
> Thank you for reading and have a good day!


	4. Chapter 4

The argument was explosive. Dad screamed and yelled, smashed the bottle he was holding and then threw the remains against the wall Dean was standing against. Sam was pretty sure Dean had a cut under his eye but his brother stayed quiet, pressed against the wall and tight-lipped. Sam wished Dean would support him, would at least stop John’s tirade and anger. Dean always did, always stepped in before John or Sam could go too far or do something they would later regret, but Dean stayed where he was, face pale and shoulders hunched. 

When John declared that Sam could leave but wasn’t ever allowed back, Sam stilled. John was heaving, face ruddy and contorted in anger and his hands were at his sides, opening and closing, like he wanted to throttle something. John probably wanted to throttle Sam, for all intents and purposes. But Sam wasn’t worried about his dad. He was watching Dean. 

Dean’s already pale face had drained completely of blood and his eyes were wide, almost panicked. He didn’t seem to be breathing. He stared back at Sam and the plea in his eyes ( _don’t go don’t go don’t go DON’T GO_ ) was almost enough to make Sam drop his bags and stay. Then John snarled our that Sam had better leave now or so help him – 

Sam didn’t hear what John was going to do. He stomped out the door and slammed it behind him, leaving his family, his brother, and got on a bus. 

+++

Sam thrived at Stanford. He loved his classes, he reveled in his normalcy. He met Jess and they got an apartment together. He was happy. 

Sam tried his hardest to ignore thoughts of Dean and his dad. He didn’t dwell on what might have happened to them (to _Dean_ ) when he left. He tried so hard. 

But sometimes, late at night when Jess was cramming for a test or out with friends, Sam would drift. He’d worry and wonder. He’d remember the marks on Dean’s back, the way he’d flinch if John gestured too close to his face. He’d remember how _angry_ John was, and how he’d glared at Dean when Sam told him he wanted to leave, like it was Dean’s fault that Sam wasn’t the perfect son, the perfect _soldier_. 

Sam worried that he had hurt his brother in ways that could never be undone. 

+++

And then Dean rolled in one day, smooth (and annoying) as you please, and told him dad was on a hunting trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after immediately after Mary leaves.

Dean was drinking. A lot. Sam watched from where he was leaning against a pillar as Dean knocked back another beer, not even stopping to breathe between gulps. 

Dean swiped his hand across his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. Spinning the now-empty bottle, Dean sighed. 

“Ya’ know, Sammy, this sucks,” Dean slurred. Sam startled and straightened up. Dean hadn’t spoken to him for a couple of hours, at least. He’d been too busy drinking. Dean barreled on, oblivious to Sam’s surprise. 

“I mean, mom just-” Dean hiccuped and swayed in his seat. Sam ran to him.

“Hey, hey, Dean, it’s fine, you can –” 

“Nah, Sammy, it’s not.” Dean put his head on the table and looked at Sam. Sam paused. “Mom still thinks that dad was great, ya’ know? And he wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t, he couldn’t – ” Dean paused again and Sam could see that he was searching for the right thing to say, the right way to express what he was feeling without acknowledging feelings. 

Dean sighed and straightened up, looked Sam in the eye. 

“Dad was an awful bastard and mom thinks that he took care of us. But he didn’t, Sammy!” Dean wasn’t yelling, he didn’t sound angry. All Sam could hear was resignation, sadness, and a little bit of fear. It was all reflected in Dean’s clouded eyes. 

Dean laid his head back on the table, cocooned by his arms.

“I took care of us, Sam. I did it all. I made money, I went to school, I took you to school, I did Christmas, I starved, I did whatever I had to do. Dad did. Dad did nothing. Why didn’t he do anything, Sammy?

Sam couldn’t answer. He was frozen where he knelt beside his brother. Logically, Sam knew Dean had protected them. Dean had tried to fill in the role of the father theirs never had been. He failed along the way, because Dean was still a boy. Dean had been an idiot teenager and Sam’s brother, and he had acted like it, too. But he had tried. Dean would never be Sam’s father, but he had been Sam’s caretaker and protection. He had been the adult that John had never been. 

Sam startled when Dean tried to stand up but almost tipped over. 

“Whoa, Dean, hang on a sec,” Sam said, rushing to grab his brother. Dean looked up at him blearily but allowed himself to be pushed back into the chair. Sam pointed at Dean. “Stay there. I’ll get you some water.” 

When Sam came back with the water, Dean was still staring blankly at the place Sam had been standing. Sam waved the glass in front of his face and Dean grabbed at it clumsily. As Dean slurped the water down, Sam tried to find his courage to ask something he’d wondered since the time at Bobby’s when he was only twelve.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam asked hesitantly. Dean had finished off the water and was leaning back in the chair, eyes half-closed, and he grunted in reply. Sam furrowed his brow. “Did dad ever- Did he ever, you know, hur-hurt you?” 

Dean flopped his head to the side and peered at Sam. 

“Whaddya mean?”

Sam swallowed nervously. “Did dad ever… hit you?” And Sam regretted asking the second the last words left his mouth. 

Dean’s eyes seemed to shutter closed and his mouth pressed into a firm line. He peered at Sam suspiciously. 

“How did you kno-” Dean stopped himself suddenly, like he was trying to force his tongue to still. “Nah, Sammy, ‘course not.” Dean pushed away from the table and staggered out of his chair. 

“Now,” Dean said and he walked towards the rooms. “If you don’ mind, I’m gonna go to bed. Gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow. See in the mornin’ Sammy!” Dean waved jauntily without looking back and almost ran into a wall. 

As Dean disappeared Sam put his head in his hands and tried to not scream and spit vitriol at the world that hurt his family so deeply and so permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to angst! I also feel like this story is going in a different direction from what the summary states and what I meant to do with this. Who cares about plot, though? Right? Right. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
